Way Back When
by dontbesojaded
Summary: Sam and Diane reminisce in an empty bar after closing time. Two parts because I am too lazy to finish it right this second. Takes place sometime in season 4. Reviews are lovely.
1. Chapter 1

_ I never thought that I was breaking you._

_We were victims of the old taboo_

_but people change we changed too_

_just make it count before they get to you._

-Aimee Mann

**way back when **

The lights over the bar were dimmed to a low orangey glow. The jukebox played quietly in the corner; some new band's record spinning out slow tunes that echoed in the emptiness. A bar after closing time.

Diane cast aside her apron, sparing it her usually neatly creased folds and letting it pile near Norm's usual stool. She rested her elbows on the bar and leaned towards Sam, her hair falling out of its ponytail in disheveled waves. His back was to her, and she could hear the familiar high pitched rings as he bumped shot glasses together.

"Buy me a drink, barkeep?" her voice was low, tired.

He didn't turn, but he could see her in his mind's eye. The way she was leaning over the bar. The way the lights would hit her hair. The way she would smile at him. The way it would be all too easy, as it had been all those times before, to lean over and kiss her.

"What'll it be?"

"Something deep enough to drown my sorrows in and strong enough that I won't remember it in the morning." She gave a dry little laugh, but it faltered at the end and came out like a sob.

Now he turned. She was slumped over the bar; her cheek resting one fist. She looked exhausted, but the light still hit her hair just so, and she still offered him a small, sweet smile. He swallowed, resting his forearms on the bar and looking at her closely.

"Alright, spill it. C'mon, tell me what's bothering you."

"Drink first. Questions later."

He tipped a bottle of dark whiskey, the expensive stuff, over a glass and placed it in front of her. She downed it in one swig and looked at him expectantly.

Sam shook his head, "Uh-uh. Talk."

She looked at him levelly, her eyes narrowing. She heaved a dramatic sigh, "You are insufferable."

"So I've been told."

He looked at her, eyebrows raised. Waiting for an answer as to why the inextinguishable Diane Chambers was slumped over a bar, looking decidedly dim. In the jukebox the record scratched onto a new song:

_She was the kind of girl_

_Who repeats her mistakes_

_Her parents never minded what she did_

_She was a fallen angel with dirt on her face_

Diane sighed, seemingly in surrender, and seemed to sink a little lower, as if she was intent on becoming part of the woodwork. He frowned in sudden genuine concern.

"Its nothing." She hissed out between her teeth.

He pulled back in exasperation, "Diane!"

She looked up from where she had been examining the indentations and "_so-and-so loves so-and-so"s_ that littered the bar. He seemed to remember that there was a certain heart on the far right side forever-branded with "_SM loves DC_". He thought it oddly ironic, that even after she moved on, after she left him (and he was speaking both in the past and future tense, because how long could she linger here when nothing was holding her back?) his bar would always be marred with a frozen snapshot of the way they were two years ago.

He would never really be able to forget her, or totally wipe her from his mind. There would always be reminders. An unmistakable sense of bittersweet melancholy washed over him for a moment, and he shook his head; she was here, right in front of him, why was he already heartsick over something that hadn't happened yet? _Maybe_, he thought,_ I know her too well. Maybe I know us too well_. The record scratched and skipped, the lead singer sighing out a different verse:

_We stopped and carved our hearts_

_Into the wooden surface_

_We thought just for an instant_

_We could see the future_

_We thought for once we knew_

_What really was important_

She held out her dry glass with wet eyes. He hesitated for a moment, then poured her another drink.

And another.

_**~and another~**_

"Lets play a game." Her mascara was smeared unceremoniously below her eyes, her cheeks red and her words sufficiently slurred. She was sitting a little taller, and her voice was light. A probable result of the amount of alcohol she'd downed in the past two hours, but maybe because of him too.

Cheers was dark. The bar glowed softly in the middle of the shadows. In every other building in Boston clocks were ticking away towards 3am, but they were exempt from time. Suspended. The clocks just read 'now', like they always had.

He'd done as she'd asked. Provided a well in which to drown her sorrows and a line on which to air them. After considerable prompting (and protesting on her part) she'd let the words tumble out in an alcohol induced, but still eloquent, rush: "I don't know what I'm doing anymore, Sam. I thought I wanted to marry Frasier but I didn't and I thought..." she had paused, pointing a finger at him accusingly, "and then there is _you_. There's_ always_ you."

He hadn't known what to say to that. His reassurances were half-hearted at best, but if you can't offer false hope and comfort to the doomed and the damned than you had no business being a bartender.

"A game?"

An onlooker might have thought it odd that he remained standing on one side of the bar while she sat on the other. There was no one else there. They could have chosen any seat in the house, but they didn't. He had the sneaking suspicion that crossing to the other side might be considered treason. He stayed on his, she stayed on hers.

She nodded decisively. Suddenly serious. As serious as she could be drunk. "Truth or dare?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "I'm the immature one?"

"You picked truth." She leaned back and squinted intently up at the ceiling. Searching for the perfect question. He rested his head against one fist, propped on the bar, and watched her with a steady patience and a dangerous amount of something just shy of adoration. "Alright! I have one!"

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to ask him something deep and philosophical, as per usual.

"What's your favorite memory..."

He tensed, ever so slightly.

"Of us?" She finished her question with a smile. Sincere. As if she really wanted to know, instead just wanting to back him into a corner where every answer would be wrong.

"Us?"

"Yes, Sam. Us. And if you say-" Her voice took on an edge that was warning enough, but he had known his answer as soon as she finished the question. A rare occurrence for Sam Malone (the average time it had taken for him to complete a test was...never).

"August 23rd. When we went to that play, and then-"

Diane's smile faltered and her eyes went soft in the dim lights. Remembering. She nodded, her eyes shone in a glassy way that maybe wasn't from the whiskey. She sighed out half a laugh, "With the fountain?"

He nodded and they both dissolved into laughter.

* * *

**to be continued because I am too lazy to finish it all right now... **


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: This may end up being a chapter or two longer than I intended it to be. I meant to only write this as a few brief flashbacks incorporated into Sam and Diane talking but I couldn't resist writing this memory full-length. I don't really know quite where I'm going with this fic but its safe to say there is at least one, if not two, more chapters. Sorry to be such a tease! Reviews are love3 _

* * *

_**~with the fountain~**_

It had been dark. Late enough to be early. The night was warm and mercifully devoid of humidity. She walked a few paces ahead in clipped, purposeful strides with her head held high. Angry. He had lingered behind and felt guilty, which wasn't a familiar feeling for a guy who loved 'em and left 'em like there was no tomorrow (and in all of those cases, there wasn't). He couldn't even remember what they were fighting about anymore. He'd lost track. Only that it had begun before the curtain rose and hadn't ended when it had fallen.

He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. He glanced to his left; something catching his eye. A fountain. Water spurted up from the center of the marble pool. Lights set the shallow water aglow. He'd seen it before, hundreds of times. But it was different at night.

"Diane." She didn't stop walking, making no acknowledgement that she'd even heard him. Her heels clicked against the cobblestone; even her shoes sounded angry.

"Diane!" He sped up behind her, catching her arm loosely. "Look at the fountain, isn't-"

She yanked her arm out of his grasp, "Sam Malone, I don't know if I haven't made it _clear_ but I don't particularly wish to hear the incessant drivel which you call_ talking_ at this moment."

"So don't listen. Just walk." He grabbed for her elbow again and caught it, dragging her with him towards the fountain.

"Sam! Let go of me right this instant or..." She sounded off with several indignant protests, gradually weakening as they drew closer to the fountain. He dropped her arm, and stepped closer to the stone pool. Diane stood behind him with her arms crossed over her chest.

The water made the lights dance and flicker, barely illuminating the night. Somehow it reminded him of going to the lake when he was little, of warm summer nights with his brother. He smiled and turned to look at her, " This place is really pretty at night don't you think?"

She was watching him closely with wide eyes. Her head was cocked to one side as if something was puzzling her greatly, but she was smiling a little. He waved a hand, "Diane? Anybody home?"

She seemed to come back to herself and the frown returned. She pursed her lips and looked every bit a put-out school teacher who was seconds away from breaking a non-violence rule and slapping an unruly student. He beckoned for her to come closer and she did- grudgingly, but he doubted if she could remember what they were fighting about anymore either.

She sat down hard on the edge of the fountain, but didn't uncross her arms. She was set on keeping up the appearance of anger (but Sam was right, she didn't remember why she was mad at him, just that she was supposed to be). She stared down at her shoes, refusing to look at the water or at him.

He didn't know what came over him, and he was years past being able to blame it on alcohol. But suddenly a surge of something, not anger (he'd never touched her in anger, at least not yet) but more of an intense annoyance. He had a sudden need to break her of this childish habit of holding a baseless grudge, or maybe, the opportunity was just too good to resist. He didn't know why he did it, exactly, but suddenly Diane was sitting no longer _on_ the fountain, but _in_ it. The sight of her sitting in water up to her waist, wearing a strapless black dress and expensive heels and a deer-in-the-headlights look of shock somehow brought forth a bout of laughter from Sam.

"S-Sam Malone, what the hell- if you think-this isn't funny! I can't believe..." She sputtered angrily as she struggled to pick herself up. Sam grinned, he'd made Diane Chambers speechless. Somehow this seemed like quite the accomplishment, maybe right up there with pitching in the majors (but there had been consequences to that and there would be consequences for the former too, he had no doubt). He offered her a hand, still smiling, "I'm sorry, I just..."

She smiled sweetly up at him, "Oh, don't bother Sam. I understand."

"You do?"

"Oh, yes," She replied softly. Sam slowly began to realize the danger of leaning over the edge of the fountain to help her, it was like at the Zoo when the zookeepers would tell stories of children leaning over the walls and being pulled in by monkeys and seals alike. Somehow at this moment, with her black dress spread around her in the water and the lights making her blue eyes dance, Diane looked more dangerous than any caged animal. But he noticed this too late. She was extending a hand daintily towards him and laughingly whispering, "You just couldn't resist the temptation of doing this!" Her fingers rocketed past his outstretched palm and closed over his tie, giving it a sharp tug and pulling him into the water with a tremendous splash.

He landed next to her, feeling the water soak through his clothes and into his shoes. He looked over at her, she had thrown her head back, laughing. He started to say something when a timer alerted the fountain it was time to send out another jet stream of water from its center. The water rained down on them hard and fast, Diane's laughter was cut short and she shrieked as icy droplets washed over her. She looked over at Sam, the frown was back but her eyes were bright and her lips were curved into a smile, "Oh, I hate you."

He stood up, with considerable effort because his light-weight jacket now weighed a hundred pounds and once again extended a hand to her. She took it with a smug grin and allowed him to pull her up. Sam tugged her closer to him and she wound her arms up around his neck, "I hate you, too," he said and smiled before he kissed her.

They stood that way in the fountain, both pairs of shoes were already beyond ruined, but neither one of them really cared.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Uh-oh its still not finished! One more chapter. I might change the title, btw. Feel free to send me any ideas if you've got 'em. _

* * *

"You know, Mr. Malone," Diane began, "if I weren't so damned _drunk_ I might..." She trailed off, looking sideways at the bar. An odd feeling had crept into her stomach as they had recounted their adventure with the fountain, finishing each other's sentences and giggling like school children over some private joke. Something she'd almost forgotten (or tried very hard to ignore) was creeping back into her system like a slow working poison, and it had suddenly hit her that she was too tired and too intoxicated to fight it.

"You might what?" His voice was low, and when she looked up again, her eyes were wide, almost afraid.

_Think you were still in love with me. _Diane cleared her throat, and shook her head, realizing that the unfinished sentence had already revealed far more than she wanted to give away.

"Your turn." Sam broke the silence that had settled softly over them. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, it was the opposite, and it was _too_ comfortable. It was the silence of people with a long and merciless history together; people who had only just recently been able to fix whatever damages the other had inflicted on them, but their repairs were holding on by a thread.

"My turn?" She looked dazed, as if he had woken her from a very deep sleep, and maybe he had, her eyes had that faraway look and she had stared at him for a moment too long before replying.

"Yeah, we're still playing, aren't we?" Did he want to still be playing? Somehow it seemed like this innocent child's game had become a loaded gun. All it would take was the right -or wrong- question to pull the trigger.

Diane looked down at where her foot was swinging and occasionally hitting the bar with a dull thud. She had a pounding headache. Her hair had come all the way out of its ponytail and created a blonde curtain around her face when she ducked her head. She breathed deeply, feeling, at least for a moment, at peace. She knew as soon as she looked back up her heart would start to pound as hard as her head. She was just sober enough to be aware this "game" was moving into dangerous territory, the kind that had a sign stating: "Tread Carefully You Are On Unsteady Ground," but she was also drunk enough that she plundered ahead anyway. The record continued to spin:

_The world will turn; at least that's what they say_

_We'll crash and burn, it's hard to look away _

_That kind of thing is easier to say than do._

"Yes," She sighed, but didn't look up, "I suppose we are."

There was a long moment where he didn't say anything. She jerked her head up sharply; aware of his eyes on her like he was physically touching her. She was sure there would be a childish aversion of eyes, the old "oh-you-caught-me-looking" blushes, but there wasn't. Maybe they were past that now. They'd come so far from days when flirting could be harmless fun. Yes, they'd come so very far. She was suddenly aware of how utterly _exhausted _she was, and not only the physical sense.

He abruptly pulled back and ran a hand over his face, "Ok, uh, truth or dare?"

"Truth." She responded automatically, like it was a default setting.

"Same, ah, same question."

She smiled, pleasantly surprised, "Sam, how...chaste."

"Well," He smirked and leaned towards her again, "that depends on how you answer it." His words were light and teasing, somehow bringing to mind the time she'd christened him "king of the single entendre." Yet, despite his best efforts, his quip sounded forced. Something had shifted between them as they'd talked about the fountain, and now there would be no successful attempts at backtracking into familiar territory.

Diane smiled slightly then gave a sudden groan and dropped her head into her hands, "Oh, God, I don't know. My head hurts."

"C'mon, Diane, there were _no_ good times?"

He was teasing again but buried beneath his nonchalance was a trace of deep disappointment. She'd heard it before - when they were together, when she'd (arguably, if you ask Sam) left him, when she'd told him she was going to Europe - the blighted hope hidden under a smile or a laugh. Had she hurt him so badly? Wounded him so deeply that simply not being able to answer this silly question had caused him to question his self-confidence? Did he just care that much? Was she always this perceptive while she was drinking? Was she _only_ this perceptive while she was drinking? All good questions, no good answers. She'd jot them down in her diary tonight while she could still remember, and maybe an answer would emerge eventually. The question at hand however - there were no good times? – didhave an answer, a simple one. So she said, "Oh, Sam, there were lots. Too many to choose from."

A genuine smile, "Yeah, we did have fun didn't we?"

She nodded even though her head was pounding, pounding, pounding. "Yeah, we did."

There was that silence again, and in it memories flashed by like slides on a projector: a room in the Pequod Inn with the fire blazing and the two of them on the couch, a dark movie theater; his arm around her and the film on the screen of no consequence to either of them (but for the record it had been _Terms of Endearment _and she **still** wasn't sure how she talked him into going to that one), the man-made brightness of an abandoned baseball field at night; Sam throwing pitch after pitch at a batter-less plate and she suddenly realizing how in love with him she really was, riding in his Corvette and feeling like some sort of movie star (although she would never admit it, she loved that damn car), her crying on a park bench in the dark, that same damn car speeding off angrily into the night, Sam's face as he told her where he was going even though she _knew_ he was lying.

She sniffed and blinked quickly, shutting off the flow of images. Sam was watching her oddly, as if he could read her thoughts. She reached over and patted his arm.

"We had some _great_ times." She said quietly, unsure of whom she was reassuring more: him or herself?

He glanced down at her hand on his arm and she jerked it back as if he was hot to the touch. He swallowed and stared at the floor for a moment. Diane clasped her hands together in her lap and resisted the temptation to sit on them like some fidgety schoolgirl.

"I pick dare." Sam said suddenly.

Diane nodded and then picked up her empty glass, looking at him imploringly. Sam shook his head

"I think you've had enough."

Diane smiled slightly. It was a condescending smile that a mother might bestow upon a child; it was as if she thought him both sweet and incredibly stupid.

"One more. I'm a big girl, Sam, I can handle myself."

Sam's jaw clenched. How she could still act pretentious and 'mightier-than-thou' while she was so drunk was totally beyond him. The worst part was that although it made him crazy, there was still a good part of him that found it oddly endearing. He took her glass and turned back towards the bottles, "Are you going to give me a dare or what?"

"I'm thinking. Let me see…I dare you…"

He poured her less than half a glass of watered-down whiskey. Better to let her think she was getting her way than fight with her about it, then her voice wavered quietly behind him, "Do you still love me?"

He turned fast, dropping the glass in front of her and spilling some of the liquid with none of his usual bartender's grace.

"I picked _dare_."

Diane put the glass to her lips and let the liquid fire scorch her throat before looking at him levelly. Her eyes were bright, but somehow both cold and desperate under the glaze of alcohol.

"I know." She said.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: IT IS FINALLY DONE. I'd like to sincerely apologize for how long its taken and thank you all for baring with me through whatever the hell this fic is. I'm serious, I have no idea what this is any more. Between the flashbacks, changing perspectives and over use of 'Til Tuesday's lyrics* …its kind of a colossal mess. But thank you for reading. You are all magnificent pagan beasts, beer nuts and cheese doodles for you all. Thanks to BFEOSAD for ideas and support (and samurai frasier crane for tips on dealing with writers block).

*Ok so I cheated a bit with the songs because some of them hadn't come out by this time, but they are all 80s songs so lets just pretend. And the very last song is actually not 'Til Tuesday, its Fleetwood Mac.

** Is it just me or does the title "Way Back When" not making any since seeing as this fic is not what I originally intended it to be?

* * *

**_"Music doesn't lie. If there is something to be changed in the world then it can happen through music." _**

**_- Jimi Hendrix_**

The first thing that struck him (before he'd even fully processed the question) was that she had not asked him to tell the truth. She'd dared him to love her. And that seemed oddly appropriate, because dares were (by nature and definition) dangerous, and loving Diane Chambers had been the most dangerous thing he'd ever done. Did he still? Was he still pushing the limits by loving an impossible woman?

"I...what do you want me to say to that, Diane?"

She shrugged innocently. Then sighed and hunched her shoulders - whatever momentary courage she'd had was gone.

"I'm...I'm sorry. I'm just..." She let her eyes flicker back up to his face. Tired? Confused? Drunk? Lonely? Afraid? Maybe an odd conglomeration of all those things at once.

"It's alright."

"No, Sam. It isn't. But, as they say, c'est la vie." She looked back towards him and there seemed to be a hard resilience in her eyes, a cynical glint that had replaced the wide-eyed idealism and naivety of the girl who had wandered into his bar four years ago. _She_ had been ready to embrace the world, but the world hadn't embraced her back. It had held her for a while before shoving her around; a push there, a stumble here, the occasional pinch. And after a while all those bruises had become scars.

Poor Diane, Sam thought, and found himself (and not for the first time), pitying her. How could he not when she was slumped in front of him, drunk and hating a world that seemed to hate her back? She reminded him of himself, a long time ago; battered but not totally broken, wounded but nothing fatal and certainly not beyond repair. No, she would be back tomorrow, right as rain; with that smile that said "Today's the day. Today everything is going to happen for me, I just know it" and her rose colored glasses would be smudged but not shattered. And he found himself sort of in awe of her. In awe of her and…something else too. And, damn it, did he still? Love her, that is.

"You think, perhaps, it's time for me to turn in?" Her voice was muffled, like he was hearing her through thick walls.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." He said softly, and more to himself than her. Diane frowned and wondered for a moment what question he was really answering. But only for a moment. And then suddenly she understood and felt tears behind her eyes, because she'd already known his answer. She just didn't know what to do about it.

She reached out for his hand on the bar and squeezed. "I do too, Sam."

He caught her hand before she could pull away and for a second they just looked at each other. And then she smiled, but it was bitter and wistful, the smile of a kid on Christmas who'd gotten everything except for what they'd really wanted. He mirrored it perfectly. And for someone who had always thought silence was overrated, she was all too happy to let this one go on for as long as it wanted.

But nothing lasts forever and even though it seemed that moment could (and should) the jukebox screeched and they jumped apart. Diane tucked her hand back into her lap and looked guiltily away.

"Do you need a ride?" Sam asked quietly. Then he smiled and shook his head. "What am I talking about of course you do. You are one wasted woman, I can tell you that much."

"Actually," Diane started. She was about to insist she felt a lot less drunk. Certainly she'd felt pretty sober when she'd asked him that _ridiculous_ question, hadn't she? If she had been drunk she would have regretted it by now, but she didn't, so maybe she wasn't. But then she stood up and the world blurred in and out of focus with nauseating speed. She stumbled, reached out to grab onto to the bar and found Sam's arm instead. She dropped it immediately, meeting his eyes with a sheepish smile. "Yes. I guess I do."

"Stay there." He instructed. "I don't need you breaking any bones in my bar. Once was enough." He moved quickly, grabbing their coats and her purse before walking around towards where she was still standing, her hand like a vice on the gold rail that lined the bar.

"It's happened before?" She said suddenly.

"What's that, sweetheart?" Sam shrugged on his coat and she relaxed at the endearment. He called everyone sweetheart, he called Carla sweetheart. It seemed they were back in familiar, and safer, territory.

"Someone broke a bone in this bar?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah, Cliff tripped up the steps here and when he tried to grab onto Tecumseh for support, it just fell right over on him. Broke his arm, believe it or not."

Diane smiled."Oh, I can believe it."

"I feel kinda bad laughing about it, but, man it was funny. And he turned out alright."

She nodded. "Yes, I guess, how it ends...is all that really matters. Right?"

Sam was looking at her intently. "Right."

Diane averted her eyes again. All these accidental double entendres were making her head spin faster than it already was. "Let's go, Sam."

"Right." He said again, more naturally this time and without the word catching in his throat.

He offered her his hand to prevent any accidents, it was a friendly gesture, nothing more. She took it gently, focused on not tripping over her own heels. But then he froze suddenly, still holding her hand.

"Sam?"

"Sorry." He said quietly. "I love this song."

(** A/N: GO TO YOUTUBE AT THIS TIME AND FIND 'TIL TUESDAY'S "NO ONE IS WATCHING YOU NOW" TO GET THE FULL EFFECT OF THIS SCENE**)

Diane's attention turned to the jukebox and the penultimate song on this band's record that was playing softly now. It was a slow song, like the ones people used to clear the floor for at school dances.

And she immediately knew what was going to happen before it did. Some small, more sober, part of her cried out in terror, but it was already too late. Sam was drawing her closer and saying they should wait until this song was over. She was agreeing with him.

And then they were swaying.

They didn't quite assume the usual slow dance position, she was still too unsteady on her feet for that. But he didn't let go of her hand and she anchored her other one on his shoulder. They were too close together, so close she could either kiss him or let her head fall to his chest. She opted for the last one because it seemed safer somehow. And it was safe. And while the song played she wasn't afraid, she didn't feel hopeless or lonely or confused. She didn't feel anything that she'd felt since leaving Europe.

He dipped her dramatically as the song came to a close and she laughed, ignoring the pounding in her head. When he drew her back up there was another second, another almost...something. She pulled away before the something could become anything and saw understanding instead of hurt register on his face.

"Too soon, huh?" He asked quietly and she nodded her response. "Yeah, for me too, I guess."

The weight of the air seemed to change and she knew something had been decided. She wouldn't have to worry about suddenly falling into his arms (or being swept up into them) at least not for a while. For some reason the thought made her chest ache.

"I need to go home." She said softly, feeling almost out of breath. He nodded and swung an arm casually over her shoulders. She leaned in, just simply grateful not to have to walk alone.

Somehow she stumbled her way to the door, and with Sam's help managed not to have her arm broken by the heavy wooden indian. Though she did throw it a cautionary glance as she passed.

They had just made it out into the dimness of the stairwell when Diane felt what she was going to say next rise up in her throat like vomit. Maybe she was drunker than she thought, because she kept spewing out stupid things but she couldn't seem to keep her mouth shut.

"It used to be easier, didn't it Sam?" She sighed.

"What?"

"I don't know. Life. Everything."

Sam looked at her and then visibly jumped as the jukebox began playing again from inside almost seeming to weigh in on their conversation with its near perfect timing:

_Everything's different now  
seems long ago that our love was unknown  
but its just yesterday  
everything's different now..._

"Damn! I have to get that thing fixed! It's like it's possessed or something." Sam looked sharply at Diane. "Don't tell Carla I said that."

She mimed zipping her lips.

"I'm going to go unplug it or it'll be turning on and off all night."

"Ah, Mr. Malone. I think you mean morning." Diane glanced at her watchless wrist. "See! It's almost 4am!"

Diane grinned and it seemed as though suddenly all the drinks she'd consumed tonight were hitting her at once. Sam smiled. "God, you're a mess. Wait here. And remember no broken bones, alright?"

"Yessir." She mumbled, sinking down to sit on the second to last concrete step.

Sam unlocked the bar and switched back on the lights. He made his way to the jukebox and yanked out the plug. It didn't go immediately silent, instead it slowly faded away, as if someone was singing to you while falling down a well.

The last line hung in the air for a good thirty seconds, prophetic:_ we'll go back to what we knew before... forgetting that everything's different now._ Sam glanced at Diane sitting out on the steps, her head leaning against the railing, and smiled. He switched off the lights and the bar was plunged into darkness.

Diane looked up as he walked back out and her eyes were shiny with alcohol. Whatever sobriety she had achieved while they were dancing had faded away and he offered her a much needed arm as she stood up.

"I just had a thought." He said as they tottered up the steps.

Diane gasped dramatically. "Are you going to be alright? Do you need to rest?"

"Hey, I'm the only thing holdin' you up right now, Klutzy, so watch yourself." Diane smiled up at him and he went on, fumbling to unlock the Corvette as he did. "Anyways, I'm only telling you this because there is no way you'll remember it in the morning."

"Shoot, big shot." Diane giggled as he helped her into the passenger seat of the car. He reached over to buckle her seat belt before responding.

"I think I'm gonna," He began, but Diane had passed out as soon as her hair hit the headrest. _That's my girl_, he thought to himself and smirked at the memory those words recalled.

He slipped into the driver's seat and turned on the engine, somewhat relieved at her perfect timing. She'd fallen asleep before he could voice the ridiculous though that had occurred to him as he'd watched her on the steps.

The radio hummed to life with the car. He recognized the song immediately, it had been a minor hit a few years ago, and laughed. It was almost serendipitous. It was actually almost creepy. And suddenly the thought he'd had as he'd left the bar didn't seem as ridiculous as it had a second ago. Who knows, maybe it's just that good music will do that to a guy. Wasn't it Jimi Hendrix that said music don't lie? Or something like that?

He glanced over at Diane as he turned it up. Still asleep. _Screw it, _He thought as he threw the car into reverse and pulled gently out of the parking lot, _I think I'm gonna marry her. _And then out loud, as if to seal it in cement or ink or some other permanent substance:

"Damn it. I think I'm gonna marry her."

The radio kept playing the song's repeating chorus and Sam hummed along as they drove off into the dark:

_Oh no  
__Here I go again fallin' in love again  
__Love is like a grain of sand  
__Slowly slippin' through your hand  
__Oh Oh Diane  
__Oh Oh Diane..._

* * *

I like reviews. :)


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